She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white Suéde gloves, and she carried a white parasol.
‘I’m hanged,’ said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the road, ‘look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or are you not?’
Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face.
‘No, my good man,’ she said, ‘I don’t propose to carry your baby one step.’
[p 4]
]‘Then I shall drop it,’ said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on.
‘Find a soft place,’ she called, looking back over her shoulder once and seeing him still standing in the road.
‘Little minx,’ he said under his breath.
Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily it was a pleasant mouth, much given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look, one could see capabilities for all manner of things.
He looked carefully around. By the roadside there was a patch of soft, green grass, and a wattle bush, yellow-crowned, beautiful. He laid the child down in the shade of it, he looked to see there were no ants or other insects near; he put on the bootee that was hanging by a string from the little rosy foot and he stuck the india-rubber comforter in its mouth. Then he walked quietly away and caught up to Dot.
‘Well?’ she said, but she looked a little [p 5] ]startled at his empty arms; she drooped the sunshade over the shoulder nearest to him, and gave a hasty, surreptitious glance backward. Larrie strode along.